


Jam Session

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Baked Goods, Baker Molly Hooper, Beekeeper Sherlock Holmes, Developing Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Honey, Jim Moriarty is a Little Shit, Mary & Sally Work For Molly, Matchmaker Mary Morstan, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Molly Hooper/Tom - Freeform, Pining Mycroft, Secret Recipes, Smitten Sally Donovan, Tom Was A Corporate Spy, Wary Molly Hooper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 22:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15917730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: Molly Hooper is known for making some of the best baked goods in all of England, and no one knows what her secret is. Her most popular dish is her Jam Tartlets, and it’s a recipe she shares with absolutely no one, not even those who work in her shop. When a new resident arrives in the village, an apiarist named Sherlock Holmes, they begin an exchange: some of her special jams in exchange for his honey. But what starts as a simple trade of sweet foodstuffs becomes so much more when Molly’s shop is broken into and ransacked by someone looking for the secret recipe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chitarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chitarra/gifts).



> So I finally decided to take the plunge and work on one of the many ideas inspired from the fic title meme on Tumblr, where someone gives me the title of a fic and I come up with a plot to go with it. This title was given to me by **Chitarra** , and I decided to write it as thanks for help **justatrashpanda** gave me.

“Oh my _God,_ ” Molly said, drawing out the last word as the sweetest, most lovely tasting honey she’d ever had touched her lips. “Mary, love, where did you get this?”

“My boyfriend’s neighbour,” Mary said, watching with a grin as Molly used her finger to wipe the sticky sweet residue off her bottom lip and then suck it off her finger. “He’s an apiarist, apparently. Wanted to give John a preemptive apology for having a beehive or three in the back by handing over some honey. I mean, John didn’t even realize anyone lived there, to be frank. He keeps to himself.”

“And I can have the whole jar?” Molly asked.

Mary nodded. “John says you have to keep him in Jam Tartlets for a week but yeah. Three jars, all yours.”

“Three jars?” Molly said with an excited squeak. “All this size?” Mary nodded. “Tell John he’s my first ever customer of the month and that entitles him to a month of biscuits on the house. Baker's dozen whenever he comes in.” She hesitated a moment, then dipped a fresh spoon into the honey and had some more. “Definitely wild clover, I can taste a hint of that, but the rest...I’m at an utter loss.”

“Well, perhaps the neighbour will share his recipe?” Mary asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the worktop. “Offer him some of your baked goods in exchange for a few jars every so often.”

Molly tilted her head as she thought about it. They weren’t far outside of London, in a small village called Bozeat, but Molly had a country-wide renown for her biscuits and other baked goods. She even got mail orders from Scotland and Ireland from time to time, though she drew a line at shipping out to the States. She’d even once made an assortment of her famous Jam Tartlets for the Queen, which had gained her quite a bit of notoriety and a continuous purchase order delivered to one Mycroft Holmes at the palace. She had the feeling the order was doubled simply so Mr. Holmes could have some, as he seemed to be pleased every time Mary dropped off an order, or so she had said.

But if he’d share what made his honey so special, he might want to have a peek at her recipes, and that...well, that was something she wasn’t prepared to do, to be quite frank. That recipe, among others, was the backbone of her livelihood. Not even Mary or Sally, her other baker on staff, knew what was in it. She made the special dough at night to let it rest and then the jam concoctions in the morning and baked them herself. It meant extra work, but to keep it a secret then that was what she was prepared to do.

“As long as he doesn’t ask for mine,” she said.

Mary’s grin faded a bit. “That rat bastard James still sniffing around?”

Molly nodded. James Moriarty was a prominent businessman in London who had taken a shine to her baking and tried to form a partnership with her. When the direct approach hadn’t worked, a man in his employ, Tom Robertson, had integrated himself into her personal life. It had only been a tip from an anonymous source to tell her what was what and Tom was promptly kicked to the curbside.

Tom had thankfully left the village with his tail between his legs, but James just would not give up, it seemed.

“I tell you, we need to ask for a gun on premises to shoot vermin and then I should aim it towards his arse. Maybe one shot each cheek?” Mary said.

Molly giggled and then regretfully recapped the honey. “Don’t go giving me any ideas,” she said. “No, we’ll sort it all out, one way or another.” She nodded towards the package meant for delivery. “I think Mr. Holmes is due his treats soon, don’t you?”

“You know, I wonder if Her Majesty actually eats half of these,” Mary said, pushing herself away from the worktop. “You should have Sally start delivering them, though.”

“Oh?” Molly asked.

“Yeah. She did a run for me about a fortnight ago and he’s asked for her last week,” Mary said. “I think he’s smitten.”

Molly considered for a moment, then went to the door leading to the on-site kitchen. “Sal!” she called out.

“Yeah?” Sally called back.

“Feel like making a delivery run to London? Someone’s been asking for you.”

Sally came out, flour smudges on her face, her eyes wide. “Mycroft?”

“So you’re on a first name basis,” Mary said with a smirk.

“Well, I took his last order and...we might have dinner if I’m there?” Sally said, blushing slightly.

“Oh, then you _definitely_ need to take the delivery,” Molly said with a smile. “You may want to tidy up first, though.”

Sally’s eyes went wider than before and went to look at the nearest reflective surface. “Oh, my Lord…I’m a mess.”

“We’ll get you all lovely before he sees you,” Mary said, clapping a hand on her back. “And then when we’re done I’ll cover the shop and Molly can go procure us more honey.”

“What’s this apiarist’s name?” Molly asked, eyeing the honey.

“Sherlock something or other,” Mary said. With that, she and Sally went to the back stairs leading to the upstairs flat where Molly lived. Molly eyed the honey again, and then unscrewed the top of the jar and took one last spoonful. Sherlock? A name which sounded as sweet on her tongue as his honey did. Hopefully, she could be just as sweet...


	2. Chapter 2

Once they got Sally all sorted for her delivery run and a potential date with their most prestigious client, Molly herself tidied up and went to the cottage where this Sherlock something-or-other lived. Mary’s boyfriend lived on the outskirts of Bozeat but within walking distance, so she assumed it would be fine to walk there to see Sherlock. She could still taste traces of the one last spoonful she’d had on her lips before she left, and it caused her to have a smile on her face.

Honey was one of, but not the only, special ingredient in her Jam Tartlets. She used a bit in the dough as opposed to sugar, modifying the amount to the taste of the particular kinds of honey she used. Each tartlet had their own special honey that she brought from apiarists all over the country, all neatly labeled in her storeroom, and then the other ingredients that made the three varieties of tartlets special were tailored around the honey. This new honey could be the base of a whole new flavor of tartlets if he would share.

She made it to John’s cottage and could see the neighboring one not too far away. Most importantly she could see the hives so she knew it was the right one. She made her way all the way up to the front door and almost knocked before she saw a flash of white near the hives. _He must be out with the bees_ , she thought, cautiously going to what would have been a backyard if it had been fenced in and watching.

The man was in a beekeeping suit and bonnet, and all she could tell about him was he was at least a head taller than her. She watched for a time as he tended his hives and then he turned, as though he had known she had been there all along. “You’re the baker?” he asked, his voice deep and velvety.

“Um...yes,” she said as he approached. “Molly Hooper.”

He removed his mask and she was startled by just how beautiful his eyes were. They seemed to shift color slightly as he got closer and tilted his head. “My jars of honey made it to you, I see.”

“They did,” she replied. “I hope you don’t mind?”

“I knew my neighbour was dating a woman who worked for you. I assumed a jar would get to you eventually.”

“All three, actually. He knows about my honey stores.”

Sherlock perked up. “You collect jars of honey?”

“I do,” she said with a smile. “I have about twenty varieties I use in various baked goods.”

“Including your famous Jam Tartlets. My brother was able to suss out that much with his extensive palette.”

Molly’s eyes widened as she realized he had just told her one of the secret ingredients. “Oh no.”

“Don’t worry, Mycroft and I shall keep that tidbit of information to ourselves. I’m quite fond of the apricot ones, and he’d die without his weekly delivery of the strawberry ones, I swear.”

“Mycroft...Mycroft Holmes?” she asked, her eyes widening even more.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. You didn’t know my last name was Holmes?”

“Mary didn’t mention that part,” she said. “You like the apricot ones?”

“I do,” he said with a nod. “The pairing of the jam and honey in the crust is absolute perfection. But don’t worry, I won’t be asking for the recipe. I understand it’s an industry secret.”

“Not that people don’t try to suss it out,” she said. “Some more than others.”

“Well, I would love to sell you some of my honey at a highly discounted rate in an effort for, perhaps, a new flavour?” he asked in a hopeful tone, giving her a small grin. “I think raspberry might be a good pairing.”

“You know, I was thinking the same thing,” she said. “Why don’t we sit and negotiate prices and whatnot? I can have a contract drawn up later tonight.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Sherlock replied. “I can make us tea while we talk. Do you eat your own wares?”

“That depends. Do you have my apricot tartlets here?”

“I just might,” he said, gesturing to his cottage. He then turned and headed towards the door and she followed. Even though he’d figured out part of the equation of her tartlets, at least this was going to end well...or so she hoped.


	3. Chapter 3

In the end, the agreement had been for a fairly even trade: for each jar of honey that Molly was given, Sherlock would get his choice of a baker’s dozen of apricot jam tartlets or the matching amount in the apricot jam for him to use in other dishes of his own making. She realized she had gotten an extremely good deal as some of the other beekeepers and apiarists she dealt with charged her a small fortune for a dozen jars, but she made enough money to make sure it was worth the costs. The weekly deliveries to Sherlock’s brother almost singlehandedly assured that.

She did feel better knowing the Queen truly did like them, and that Mycroft wasn’t eating all of them himself, though.

She got back to see Mary had already started to close shop for the day, and so she went in through the back to check the supplies. Now was the time to put in any orders for ingredients they might need so Sally could pick them up in the morning. Some of the ingredients came in through London but certain ingredients for some of the other good came from her fellow locals, as a way to promote local business.

They seemed to be in good supply so she went to check on Mary, who was at the register, counting the till. “Did you know Sherlock’s last name is Holmes?” she said with a smile.

“Holmes? As in our weekly London delivery Holmes?” Mary asked, grinning as well. Molly nodded. “No, John never really got his last name. Just his first name. But that’s interesting.” She finished counting the money and put it in the bag to be dropped off at the bank. “Did you get honey from him?”

“At an alarmingly low rate,” she said. “He and Mycroft managed to suss out one of the secret ingredients to the tartlets. But Sherlock said both of them swear to keep it a secret.”

“You do have it written down somewhere, though, right?”x Mary asked worriedly. Molly gave her a confused look. “John brought up that if anything happened to you, we’d be lost without it.”

“If something happens and I am dead, a copy of the recipe is given to both you and Sally, as well as the shop,” she said in a reassuring tone. “I set that up when I brought you in as partners with the lawyer I use in London.”

“Oh, good,” she said. “I mean, as much as I would love to know what it is, I wouldn’t want to know over your dead body.”

Molly chuckled at that. “Well, hopefully, there will come a time when outside forces don’t try and sabotage my business and maybe I’ll share it with you both before my demise.”

Mary went over and hugged Molly. “Still thinking about the bastard Tom?”

“He was going to propose!” Molly said, pulling back. “He was so willing to get the bloody recipe he had the ring and everything, and if it hadn’t been for the tip I never would have known. I very well could have married the bloody bastard.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” Mary said, hugging her again. Molly hugged her back and after a moment they pulled apart. “I’ll drop this off at the bank and leave you be. I know that look in your eye you had when you had the honey. You’re planning a new recipe, aren’t you?”

“Sherlock had a suggestion to use the honey for raspberry tartlets, and I think that would be a smashing success,” Molly said with a smile.

“Oooh, that could be very good,” Mary agreed. “Then you go create and I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe if we’re lucky, Sally will be late because she stayed overnight in London with a certain government official.”

“One can only hope,” Molly said with a smile. Mary unlocked the front door, let herself out and then Molly locked it after her. It helped that her home was just out the back of the shop, only a few meters away. She went to take one of the jars of honey and went out the back, setting the alarm and then locking up before she walked to her home. Her mum had been the village baker for as long as she had been alive, and her father had run the storefront. When they had enough money they bought the lot behind the shop and built the house she’d loved since she was a little girl. She’d learned to cook there, and to bake, and had been able to experiment to her heart’s content.

She was glad her mum hadn’t given up the shop when her father had died. It would have been a loss she doubted either of them would have recovered from. Molly had wanted to take a few years off after school, stay and help with the business, but her mum had insisted if she was going to help the business getting a degree in business management was the way to go. She did that and doubled it up with classes at an exclusive bakery in London, and by the time she graduated she had ideas of how to expand the business beyond Bozeat as well as a number of new recipes. By the time her mum retired to a nice cottage a bit farther afield, leaving Molly not only the house but the business to run as she saw fit, they were both making a tidy sum.

It hadn’t helped Tom had swooped in when her mum was ill, and she had leaned on him heavily when her mum had died. To know it was all an act, that he had never truly cared...that had hurt more than she’d ever expected it would. But it had been some time now so she hoped her heart was on the mend, finally. Whether she would open it up to anyone else she didn’t know, but if she was at peace, that was a start.

When she let herself into her home she headed straight to the kitchen, getting two spoons: one for the honey and one for the raspberry jam she got from Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson made the best jams out of anyone in the area, and fortunately, she was as willing to experiment as Molly was. She got a spoonful of honey and a spoonful of the jam, and then, to kickstart her creative process, she drizzled some of the honey on the jam and then ate the spoonful of jam. A bit too sweet to be paired together in the tartlet filling, but…

Three hours later the first round of raspberry tartlets came out of the oven. She tasted one while it was warm but not too hot, and moaned at how good it tasted. Yes, this partnership with Sherlock for his honey would truly be the beginning of something great...


	4. Chapter 4

She surprised herself by taking half of the first dozen and packaging them up for Sherlock. Normally when she hit on the perfect recipe for something she ate all of them in one sitting, but then made another batch later to ask Sally and Mary for their thoughts. The two women were used to getting late-night drop-in visits from her with baked goods, but still, she wondered if it wouldn’t hurt to include Sherlock in the process this time. After all, he had supplied the honey and suggested raspberry to pair with it, and he had been right that it was perfect. He deserved some of the first batch.

Plus...she wouldn’t mind seeing him again, she realized, and it wasn’t horribly late yet.

That surprised her as much as giving him half the tartlets. She hadn’t opened her heart to anyone, even with just a hint of interest, since Tom and yet here she was, wanting to see him again and _share_. The conversation they had had while working out their deal had been nice, she could admit that, and it had been a reason she lingered a bit after the agreement was made to share one last cup of tea and the last of his apricot tartlets. So...she really should give him the second taste of these. He had improved her day in a way she hadn’t expected.

She made her way there, only moving with some trepidation when she realized she had no idea whether he had a girlfriend of any sort or a boyfriend for that matter. She hadn’t asked and she didn’t want to interrupt, but she steeled her nerves as she approached the edge of his property. The closer she got, the more she heard the distinct sound of a violin being played in the vicinity to the hives. She made her way to that direction and saw him standing a safe distance back, playing the violin on what looked to be a porch of some sort and he only stopped when he noticed her there. “I’m sorry,” she said, ducking her head down. “I...finished the first batch of the raspberry tartlets and I thought you might like to taste them.”

“I’d be honoured,” he said, lowering the violin as she looked up. He still looked surprised, but the small smile on his face seemed warm at least. She moved closer, edging around the hives, and she saw there was seating nearby. He led her to the tables and chairs and she set the tartlets on the table, waiting for him to open the package and try one. Once he sat he started to do just that, sniffing it for a moment. “You do get the most remarkable jam. It smells so fresh.”

“Mrs. Hudson provides it. She has all sorts for sale available to the general public but she uses a special blend for mine. She’s teaching me to make them in case she croaks, she says.”

He chuckled softly and then took a bite of the tartlet, a soft moan coming from low in his throat as he swallowed, which surprised her. “This is magnificent,” he said, his mouth slightly full. “You used almond flour in the crust?”

She nodded. “You really do have a sensitive palette,” she said. “But that’s all you get.”

“I think I’d like to change our agreement,” he said, and her eyes widened slightly. “If I choose the baker’s dozen, seven apricot and six of these.”

She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Oh, I think we can do that,” she said with a warm smile. “We can make the actual agreement for a baker’s dozen of any flavor when you choose them instead of the jam.”

“I think that will be among one of the toughest choices I’ll have to make in my life each delivery,” he said with a grin. It looked very nice on his face, she thought absently, before she realized he had a second tartlet out and was waiting for her to take it.

“Oh, I had the other half. These are all yours,” she said, shaking her head.

“I insist,” he said. “You can repay me with an extra one back when I give you more honey.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. He nodded, and she leaned forward to take it, taking a bite. Yes, the almond flour was not very apparent, she realized, which proved how remarkable Sherlock’s palette was. She chewed and then swallowed and realized she had shut her eyes in the process. When she opened it again she saw he was looking at her with the grin still on his face, but there was something else there, too. An interest of some sort.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” he asked. “I was going to have something with pasta. I seem to be in the mood for spaghetti all of a sudden.”

“I would...that would be nice,” she said with a wide smile. She hadn’t planned on staying so long, but now that she was here and the invitation had been extended, it wouldn’t be so bad to stay, not really. She could work on making more tartlets in the morning...


	5. Chapter 5

She was almost floating on air during the dinner, which she had helped Sherlock make. They ended up having shrimp scampi with a homemade sauce, and he told her how in his old profession as a private investigator he’d sometimes gone undercover to get information, and in one instance he’d had to attend cooking classes and had gotten hooked. Getting beaten by a hostile client who didn’t get the answers he wanted about his wife cheating on him had convinced him he no longer wanted to do private investigative work, but as a parting gift to his profession, he’d warned the woman what kind of husband she had married and helped her escape. Then he’d gone back to using his preferred name and retired to the village, with the bees and the violin and peace and quiet.

She noticed then, upon closer inspection, he did have a slight limp, but nothing more than that, really, to indicate he’d taken a beating in the not so recent past. But the fact he offered to walk her home had concerned her.

“I do have a cane if I need one,” he said. “The kind my brother uses, except he prefers an umbrella, but there’s a knife hidden in it, in case I’m tracked down. I tend to bring it with me so if you’re concerned about your safety--”

“No, I’m more concerned that you’ll be in pain,” she said, her eyes wide. “I don’t think I have to worry about my safety around you.”

The smile that lit up his face was the warmest she had seen not just on Sherlock but on anyone in some time. “Well then, I’ll bring it in case I feel pain. But may I still walk you home?”

“Of course,” she said. “I live behind the shop, so if you know where that is, you know where I live.”

“Then let’s make our way to your shop and then I can stretch this evening out a bit longer. I...rather like your company.”

“I like yours too,” she said with a soft voice and shy smile. He went and got a cane and situated himself, and then reached for her hand. She was surprised, but even more surprised that she let herself take his hand and entwine his fingers with hers. It felt nice, she realized, and she knew her heart was opening to him whether she’d intended for it to or not.

They walked slowly, continuing their conversation about his past before he came to the village and touching on some of the things that she had done when she was in uni. He said once his brother had contracted him to find out something about her business and she was surprised, but it had turned out he couldn’t ask the pretty delivery woman if she had a boyfriend and he didn’t want to use his government contacts to find out. Sherlock had said he had laughed his arse off but found out yes, Sally was single. He was surprised to find his brother hadn’t acted on it until this evening, and Molly corrected it that _he_ hadn’t but _they_ had and he laughed again. She found she rather liked his laugh.

Once they got to the shop she noticed something taped to the door. She let go of Sherlock’s hand, frowning, and opened it. _Be more careful next time_ , it said, and with wide eyes she left Sherlock to run around to her home, seeing the door had been jimmied open. “Oh no...”

“Does anyone know you create the recipes in your home?” Sherlock asked as he opened the door with his cane before peering in.

“My staff. Tom knew, damn him.”

“Tom?”

“My ex-boyfriend,” she said with a sigh. “It turned out he was a corporate spy, working for some Moriarty person or other.”

“That name is more familiar than I would like,” Sherlock said with a frown. “James Moriarty is a rather unscrupulous businessman based out of London. He has his fingers in many pies, not all of them legal. Did you leave anything out regarding the ingredients or the recipe?” Molly shook her head. “Good. I’ll have a look. Call Watson’s girlfriend, see if you can stay with her tonight. We’ll call the coppers and tomorrow you can get a proper alarm installed in your home and shop. I can call in a few favors.”

“Thank you,” she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek before he went inside her home to see the damage. In the meantime, she pulled out her mobile and pulled up Mary’s number. She pressed the call button and within a few rings, Mary answered. Before any greetings could take place Molly spoke. “I think my home’s been broken into.”

“Oh no,” Mary said. “I’ll be right there. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I’m...not, actually. I was having dinner with Sherlock when it happened. We came back to a note taped to the shop door.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Mary said. “Well, do you still want me to come over? John just left.”

“Yes please.”

“You can stay with me tonight. Sally’s still in London, I think. She called and said they’d had dinner and she had a bit more good wine than planned.”

Molly smiled at that. “Well, then let’s tell her in the morning and not ruin her good evening.” Sherlock came back out with a frown. “He’s frowning.”

“Not good news?” Mary asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

Sherlock approached. “Your kitchen is a shambles, and your study has been ransacked.”

“Oh no,” Molly said, her spirits dropping.

“It’s all fixable. And I ensure you, I will call in the favors to help, and I’m sure I’m not the only one.” He pulled out his own mobile. “Have her come over and we’ll survey the store while we wait.”

“I heard,” Mary said from the other end of the phone. “I’ll be there ASAP.”

“Thank you,” Molly said. She hung up and turned to Sherlock. “So I’ll have to close tomorrow.”

“You bake in your home?” he asked, pausing in calling the police.

“Just the tartlets.”

He thought for a moment. “Trust your partners. You can both take the ingredients you need and make them at her home if the store is intact. Don’t let this stop you.”

“Thank you,” she said with a nod. She knew if the store was alright she had all the ingredients for the tartlets, as she kept her honey and jam stores in the store for space-saving purposes. She rather hoped it was alright but as she looked at the back of the store her heart sank that she couldn’t possibly be that lucky again tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

Luck was, certainly, on her side. The store was fine, it was just her home that had been ransacked. It had been obvious she had been baking before she left, and then to know her study had been gone through, she thought the burglar must have had hopes of finding the newly minted recipe. Thankfully, she didn’t need to write it down just yet. She had something of a photographic memory for how she made her distinctive products, and if she could do it once she could replicate it with nothing being written down. But she knew Mary and Sally couldn’t, and this provoked new fears that something might happen to her.

She wasn’t surprised to see Mary awake at the time she generally woke up to start for the day; aside from the jam tartlets, Mary and Sally made everything else and often one or the other started the day early. But she decided that she’d show Mary how to make the tartlets.

She _was_ surprised, however, to see Sally there. “I thought we were going to let her enjoy her evening,” Mary said as both women gave her hugs.

“Your date called his brother and it...woke us up,” Sally said as she pulled back, flushing slightly. 

“Please tell me you at least got a quickie before you left,” Mary said.

“And some fun in the shower,” Sally said with a laugh. “But he’s worried. He said if Sherlock recommends anything security-wise, take it and he’ll make sure we pay very little for it.”

“Bless him, but we’re not destitute,” Molly said. “I have the bequest from my mum left and we make enough to cover extra security measures.”

“He’ll insist, and he can be...” Sally said before trailing off.

“I doubt he’ll use the same persuasion techniques on us,” Molly said with a chuckle. “Still, if he wants to, we’ll find out just how many of those tartlets he eats and send him his own fair share free of charge, and maybe with some of the raspberry ones as well.” She then gestured to Mary’s kitchen. “And that’s what we’ll all be making today. Just...I don’t care how much people bribe or threaten, please don’t share these recipes. They’re like my babies.”

“I swear I won’t,” Sally and Mary chorused, and then looked at each other with wide grins.

Molly took a deep breath, giving them both a relieved grin and then clapped her hands. “So! As of last night, we now have four varieties, and I’ll show you the ingredients for each and how to make them. Each one’s a bit different with the flours, but still. We’re going to have to declare a nut allergen for the newest, but if you both make them well we can start making the products with nuts at my home and the ones without at the store to keep the cooking surfaces pristine. I have my home kitchen go through inspection every year along with the main shop kitchen and premises, and it makes good business sense.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Mary said. “So. How do we start?”

Molly went through the original three tartlet recipes first, then the newest one. Sally and Mary got the knack of them fairly quickly, and she was rather glad she had told them when they came up with a few modifications to the newest one to try for future flavors. The almond flour was easier to work with when using Sherlock’s honey, and if his bees produced other flavors they could be worth exploring.

Soon they had enough of the tartlets ready to take to the store, where they could work on the rest of the food. They came to find a few notes stuck to the door, and after a mild panic attack that it was another threat, she saw they were well-wishes from the various villagers. She had no doubt they wouldn’t mind a slightly late start since the store was still standing.

After they got the rest of the goods made and she had Sally and Mary start work on the mail delivery orders she went to the back to meet with Sherlock, who had come in and properly met Sally, telling her she had made quite the impression on his brother and causing her to blush, and dropping off some more honey of his for the stores and choosing to pick up a few jars of various jams and a bakers dozen of the new tartlets for his payment. She took his batch and then went to her home, seeing the security company was already there. Sherlock was conversing with them and then turned to Molly. “We were just discussing payment. I assume you already know my brother is ready to foot the bill?”

“He doesn’t have to, really,” she said, handing him his package.

“He allows himself your tartlets as his single, solitary sweet in the midst of his dieting,” Sherlock said. “He’d rather die than be denied his tartlets. Please let him; he has the money and resources to get their best.”

“And how much is their best?” Molly asked. Sherlock quoted a number and she blanched. “There’s no way I can allow him to cover all that.”

“He’ll insist. He’s quite persuasive. But think of it. The Queen and the rest of the royal family love them as well. We wouldn’t want to deprive them, would we?”

“I suppose not,” she said. “But I’ll find a way to repay him, I swear.”

“I’m sure he has a few suggestions, and none of them are likely to make you balk,” Sherlock said with a grin. “He really is quite smitten with Miss Donovan, and I’m sure arranging some time for her to go into London to see him will be a sufficient start to repayment.”

“I think I can do that,” she said, giving him a small smile. “And what about you? How do I repay you for your help?”

“Dinner would be nice,” he said.

“I can make you something. Do you have any preferences?”

He frowned. “Will you be eating this dinner with me? Because I was thinking along the lines of it being a...date.”

“Oh!” she said, surprised. “Um...yes, I can eat with you. But I do insist at least this first dinner you let me cook.”

His frown went away and turned into a brilliant smile. “I think that sound reasonable. Do you know how to make anything other than Italian? I’m a bit tired of pasta.”

“I went to culinary school while I was in London,” she said. “Give me a recipe and I can make just about anything.”

“So it wasn’t just baking?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I focused on baking but I took advantage of the other courses as well. It would have felt like a waste not to.” She thought for a moment. “How do you feel about garlic?”

“I have no aversion to it,” he said. “Why?”

“Forty clove chicken is one of my specialties,” she said. “I don’t make it often, but...”

“You know, I quite happen to think it would be a good combination,” he said. “Do you have the things for it tonight?”

“Unfortunately not,” she said.

“Then tell me what you need and I can get it and bring it back. Or keep it at my home, and you can come over if that’s easier.”

“I think your place would be better,” she said. “I can get you the recipe when they’re done.”

“Then I’ll tell them to bill my brother and we can go in and I can find out what to buy tonight,” he said. “I look forward to this evening.”

“So do I,” she said with a smile, her eyes following him when he went to tell the security alarm installation team that the funding for security would be covered by his brother. Indeed, this was the most eager she’d been to make something for someone else since Tom had been around. Maybe she was moving on after all...


	7. Chapter 7

Dinner that evening had gone well, and she had suggested their next meal together be the following evening at her home. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she enjoyed Sherlock’s company and trusted him almost from the start. Once the alarm company had started the installation he’d left, and at no point that evening had he asked anything about it, like codes or to see what had been installed. He had simply asked if she was happy with the security for her home and the improved security in the shop so he could tell his brother and since she was there was no reason not to admit it. 

They had instead spent their evening talking about their pasts and then he had walked her home. She’d kissed his cheek and had to stop herself from a more intimate kiss, but she was smiling widely once she shut her front door and had to lean back against it to keep herself up. She was already falling for Sherlock. And this didn’t really trouble her like she had thought it would. It just felt...nice.

Her good mood was dimmed when she went to check the answering machine at the shop briefly before going to sleep. She’d recognize Jim Moriarty’s voice anywhere, unfortunately.

“I heard that you have a new jam tartlet flavour,” he said in his message. “I’m sure it will be a smash hit, just like the others. I’m still interested in buying out the business, so if you’ll give me a ring, I look forward to hearing from you.”

She jammed the delete button hard and then sighed. Oh, she was almost one hundred percent sure Jim had had something to do with the break-in at her home. She had no doubt he would do anything to get his grubby hands on her recipes since sending Tom into her life hadn’t been enough. And she knew neither Sally or Mary would sell her out. She trusted them implicitly, even more now that they knew the recipes. But Jim had his ways, and not all of them were legal, and that was what had her worried.

She bit her lip and then quickly undeleted the message before the deletion was permanent. No, it was good to keep these, in case the phone calls increased and became more desperate. He’d been a gentleman so far, even now that she knew the truth, but that could always change. She needed to be prepared.

After a moment of thinking, she decided to call Mary. She got her mobile out of the pocket in her skirt and hoped she wasn’t busy or in bed with John. She didn’t want to interrupt anything, but the thought that she might made her flush. Had she really gone that long without a shag that she was embarrassed thinking about her friends having a sex life? Bloody hell.

 _Maybe Sherlock would be willing eventually,_ the naughty voice in her brain said, and she felt herself warm slightly. Not that she hadn’t known she was going to think that at _some_ point, but for it to be just a short time after their first real date felt strange and yet...not. This was going to be _fun_ , she realized, reigning in her libido to deal with the situation at hand.

“Hello?” Mary answered on the third ring.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Molly asked.

“No, John left for Bristol this morning for a writer’s conference. He’ll be gone for a week but hopefully, he’ll be energized to write when he gets back. What’s going on? How was your date?”

“Oh, the date went quite well. We have another planned for tomorrow.”

“Good. I rather like Sherlock. I think he’s a good match for you.”

She relaxed for a moment. “I think he is too. I really like him. I mean, I thought after Tom I wouldn’t let anyone get close but just...he felt a good fit since day one.”

“I think he won’t hurt you,” Mary said, and Molly let out a small breath, realizing she had been worried he might, and hearing a good friend say she thought he wouldn’t break her heart made her feel a sense of relief she hadn’t realized she needed so badly. “But I don’t think that’s why you called, is it? You could have held onto that until the morning.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, reality crashing back into place. “ _He_ called. And I don’t mean Tom.”

“Bastard,” Mary said. “After trying to get your recipes by breaking into your home? What a prat. Did he make another offer?”

“Oh yeah. Said he had heard I had a new recipe, told me to call him. I will when Hell freezes over, of course, but the gall of his...”

“I know,” Mary said. “But you have the new alarm system, which I heard is better than the one at Buckingham Palace.” Molly nodded, though she didn’t entirely go back to the relaxed state she had been in before even though the words were comforting. “He won’t get it from Sally or me, either. He could offer us millions and we’d just give him the finger.”

“Good, good,” she said. “I just...whether he tried to get the recipe himself or hired someone else, he’s not going to stop. An alarm system won’t deter him, I know this.”

“Molly,” Mary said gently. “You can’t let him spook you. Just go take a deep breath, alright? In one, two three. Out one, two three.” Mary continued counting slowly as Molly took deep breaths, and soon she felt calmer. After a few more times Mary stopped the counting. “Now get a cuppa and go rest in bed. I know the place is a shambles but Sally and I can help with the clean-up tomorrow.”

“I straightened the kitchen before my date. It’s the study that’s a mess.”

“Then shut the door to it, go get that cuppa and cuddle with Toby and relax. You deserve to not be high-strung over a phone call. He’ll get his, we just have to wait.”

“I know,” Molly said. “Thank you, Mary. I appreciate this. All of this.”

“You’re welcome, love,” Mary said. “I know you’d do the same if positions were reversed. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Molly said, ending the call on her mobile. She shut her eyes and leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths as she counted. Mary was right, she knew that. Jim would get his one way or another, and then she wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore. But if she didn’t get some rest, she’d be no good to anyone. She reset the alarm to the store and then went home, turning off the alarm to let herself in and then resetting it before making a cup of tea to take upstairs. Her cat toby curled around her ankles as she puttered in the kitchen, and when she was done, both cat and tea and herself went upstairs to relax. It was all she could do for the moment, really, so she might as well just try and get some rest and relaxation before another day dawned.


	8. Chapter 8

Things continued well for both the business and her personal life as days, then a week, then two went by. She almost forgot about the call from Jim until she saw a man in her lot one morning, waiting between her home and the back of the shop where delivery drivers parked, leaning against his car. It was as sleek and shiny as his slicked-back hair, and almost the same sort of oily black. He oozed charm and sleaze, she knew this but having to see it in person nearly made her lose her breakfast.

That had to be Jim Moriarty in the flesh.

“If I wanted to talk to you I would have called,” she said, wiping the flour off her hands. Her partners were in the bakery making the products that had no nuts in them while she was making a batch of the new tartlets in her home bakery.

“Mollykins, we both know you can’t handle the influx of business with the new flavour,” he said, his voice sounding like it was oozing out of him and charm was supposed the be dripping from every pore, but she wasn’t buying it. She crossed her arms and then raised an eyebrow at him.

“I seem to have been doing just fine, even with the increase,” she said. “I’m not going to sell my recipes or my shop to you, Jim. Don’t send any more people to disturb the shop. I upgraded the security alarms and all that.” She paused. “And don’t send any more trumped-up suitors, either. I’m taken now, thanks.”

“Tom will be heartbroken to hear that,” Jim said, a frown drawing the corners of his mouth down. “Or maybe not, mostly because he didn’t care in the slightest. For him, it was a job. Your new bloke...you trust him?”

“More than I trust myself not to beat your arse with a rolling pin at the moment,” she said, the jab at her “relationship” with Tom making her angry rather than melancholy. For a moment she saw actual fear flash in his eyes before he slipped his sunglasses on, though there really wasn’t a need since it wasn’t bright outside in the slightest. “Get off my property. Now.”

“Might not be your property for long,” he said with a sly grin before snapping the gum he was always chewing and then getting in his car. The gravel in the lot kicked up behind his car as he turned it around to peel out, and even as he was almost gone she found she couldn’t stop shaking. What did he mean with that last remark?

She wiped her hands on her apron again and then made her way into her home, not bothering with her mobile and going right for the landline. She could transfer calls from the business to her home if she needed to look at something in her study and she was glad for that because her study was big and she wanted to pace.

She dialed up the answering machine to check the messages, to see if there was anything new from Jim or anything else of important she might have missed, but there was nothing. Finally, she called Sherlock, trying not to nibble on the edge of her thumbnail. “He’s got something up his sleeve,” she said as soon as she heard Sherlock’s answering click.

“Who has something up his sleeve? Tom?” Sherlock asked.

“No, Jim. He just paid me a visit and said the business may not be mine for long. Sherlock, I’m scared. I don’t know what he means.”

“I’ll be over in a bit. In the meantime, go to the store and tell Mary and Sally you’ll close early tonight. I think it’s time we all had a meeting, and I think my brother should be involved. Don’t worry; his bark is worse than his bite.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” she said, though the corners of her lips turned up at the joke about his brother. She knew very well Mycroft Holmes was more softie than iceman, thanks to his burgeoning relationship with Sally.

“Still, it did make you smile a bit, I hope.”

“Yeah, it did. We’ll close up at three today. Can your brother be here by then? I’ll cook us dinner.”

“Don’t do that, he may try and spirit you away to be his personal chef and I rather like our dinners together,” Sherlock said. “I’ll cook. You worry about the business dealings today.”

“Alright,” Molly said. “Thank you, Sherlock. It means a lot that you’re here and you’re a comfort.”

“I try to be comforting for those I care about, though I don’t always manage,” he replied.

That brought a bigger smile to her face than the joke. “You manage just fine with me, just so you know.”

“Good. Then I’ll see the three of you tonight, around six.”

“Alright. See you then.” She hung up and the giddiness at knowing this thing between them was getting a bit more serious, and not only that, but she was looking forward to the relationship getting even deeper and them getting closer, lasted for a few moments before reality set in. There was a problem brewing, but she knew between them, they could find a solution to whatever mess Jim Moriarty wanted to embroil them in.


	9. Chapter 9

She hadn’t realized just how large Sherlock’s cottage was until the evening meeting. There was ample room for Sherlock, his brother, the three of them and a woman who was introduced to her as Anthea Thompkins, a lawyer who was friends with Mycroft. The mood was tense, and Molly kept herself busy by helping Sherlock set up dinner as they spoke.

“It seems he’s trying to bury you in legal manuevers if the flurry of activity in London’s courts was anything to go on,” Anthea said. “You’ll get notices tomorrow, most likely, but he’s trying to file that the premises where the food is made is unsanitary, that there is price gouging, the mail orders are not just food and the worst of it all, that the Jam Tartlets recipe was stolen from one of his employees who you apparently went to culinary school with, Molly.”

“Bloody hell,” Molly said, hanging her head. “I don’t have enough money to fight all that in court. I mean, the premises charge...we were just checked out a month ago, both at my home and at the shop.”

“I think that’s probably just a public relations scare,” Sally said. “Or at least I think if that charge got out, that would be the one that could hurt the business the most.”

“I’m of the same mind,” Mycroft said with a nod. He was exactly what Molly had expected: tall, regal looking, in a sharp suit and speaking with a more stiff demeanor. But he sat by Sally and every once in awhile reached out to touch her hand in a comforting way, so it definitely seemed as though he was softening. “Anthea will work for you pro-bono, as she is a friend of the family and a fan of your sweets.”

“Not the Jam Tartlets, but your millionaire bars are the best I’ve ever had,” Anthea said with a smile. “We’ll consult you for everything and we’ll do nothing without your say-so, but we can handle public relations, and I believe Sherlock has volunteered to go back to old habits for a bit?”

Sherlock nodded. “I’ll contact my old contacts in London and get all the information on Moriarty I can. I know some people in his upper echelon of associates that owe me favours. I think it’s time to collect.”

“But what about us?” Mary asked. “I mean, should we worry?”

“I think the store should continue as it has been,” Mycroft said. “But I can extend the offer of surveillance at your properties as well if it would make you feel better. Not quite as sophisticated as the one at the shop or at Molly’s home, but still better than what you might have already.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Sally said, turning to give him a smile.

“Me too,” Mary said with a nod.

“Do you have the message from Moriarty still?” Anthea asked Molly. “And were there any witnesses to your meeting with him?”

“I have the message, but there wasn’t anyone out with us when he implied the threat,” she said.

“Let me get a copy of it, and make sure if he shows up on the premises again someone is with you,” Anthea said. “We’ll get an order to keep him away, or anyone under his employ. The press I can’t do anything about, but if they have questions about these legal issues, refer them to me and I will handle it.”

Molly nodded as the dinner finished and the conversation lapsed into more normal things, like plans for the shop and Mary poking Mycroft and Sherlock for information about the two of them. Anthea provided a bit too and even though the mood had started somberly, it lightened considerably for a while.

Eventually, everyone other than Molly left, and Sherlock and she took a cup of coffee each outside to sit at the seating there, sharing some of the raspberry Jam Tartlets between them. “You can stay here if you don’t feel safe in your home,” Sherlock said after a time.

“I appreciate that, but I’m not going to let him win,” Molly said, reaching over to grasp his hand. She squeezed it when he grasped her hand tightly, and the two stayed like that for a moment. “But you could always stay with me? I have a guest bedroom.”

“I may consider that,” he said, pulling her hand to his lips and kissing the back of her hand. She smiled at him.

“Thank you, for everything you’ve done. I didn’t realize that these Jam Tartlets would be so...problematic,” she said.

“It’s just because Jim Moriarty is a prat and an unscrupulous businessman. He goes after small businesses and tries to get what he can and then bastardize whatever it is he can take. And I won’t let that happen to you.”

“Thank you, again,” Molly said, turning to smile at him. Then she got up and hovered near him before leaning in and kissing him softly. He kissed her back, reaching up to pull her into his lap and deepen the kiss. She somehow had the feeling as she settled into his lap that she might not be going home tonight...and if she did, if Sherlock stayed with her, it might not be long until the guest bedroom stopped being used.


	10. Chapter 10

After an enjoyable evening spent doing nothing more than cuddling and snogging with Sherlock, she got to the shop and waited to be told officially about the suits. Sherlock had come in with her and when she was served, he read over the papers with her, Mary and Sally, and then quickly kissed Molly and said he’d be in London for a few days but he would keep his phone on if she needed it. Mary had said she could stay with her if she wanted to feel safer but Molly told her the same thing she had told Sherlock: she was not about to allow the bastard to run her out of her home and business. They would do whatever they could do to stay open and fill orders.

It was hard when the news of the suits became public, but the women referred the requests for comment to Andrea’s firm and continued to work. Thankfully the orders remained somewhat steady, and at the very least her fellow villagers were supportive.

It was nearly a week later when Sherlock came back, a wide smile on his face. Sally volunteered to cover the front and Mary to make the next batch of goods while Sherlock went to share whatever it was that had made him so happy with Molly at her home. They settled in her sitting room with tea and Sherlock almost seemed to be bouncing in his seat. “Alright, Sherlock,” Molly said as soon as the tea was poured. “Tell me why you look like a cat who got into the cream.”

“We have leverage,” he said. “On at least the biggest of the suits, the one where you were accused of stealing the recipes. Apparently, some people inside Moriarty’s organization can feel guilty.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “What happened?”

“The woman who claimed she had created the recipes recanted everything,” Sherlock said. “She gave Andrea a full statement, and then she spilled on enough other things that Andrea took the information down and is going to give it to Scotland Yard. I have contacts there who would love to be able to take James Moriarty down. But I thought we could go about it in a way to ensure he never troubles you again.”

“How?” Molly asked. She had expected a bit of dirt to turn up because she knew Moriarty was an unscrupulous businessman, but still. This was far more than she had ever expected, and far better news than she could have hoped for.

“A meeting, with the lawyers present. We let Moriarty think we’re going to come to an agreement about matters, and then give him the news that the evidence has been delivered to have him brought up on criminal charges. He can be arrested during the meeting; I know Lestrade, personally, would be more than willing to go along with this plan if it means cleaning up London a bit.”

“Lestrade is a friend of yours?” Molly asked.

Sherlock nodded. “Gregory Lestrade is a detective inspector in Scotland Yard. He’s been trying to get a hold of evidence against him for years, and Andrea had said she would talk to him and broach the idea. I hope to hear from him this afternoon if he’s willing to help us secure our end to the legal threats.”

“Oh, Sherlock, thank you,” she said, abandoning her tea and launching herself at him, kissing him enthusiastically as he pulled her onto his lap. When she was done kissing him, she smiled down at him. “I owe you, I do. More than I think I can give you with jam and Tartlets.”

“Then say that you’ll date me exclusively, and that will be a start,” he said, running a hand up and down her back. 

“Yes! Yes, absolutely, of course,” she said, moving her hands to frame his face and pepper him with kisses. If this worked, if his friend in Scotland Yard agreed, she wouldn’t have to worry about Jim Moriarty giving her problems ever again. No matter what else, Sherlock had given her a priceless gift. And she would make sure she repaid him well.


End file.
